Earth Bound Angel
by AngelKairi
Summary: [Rinoa x Squall angst & blood for Miyori.] so paint your face up something elegant and this town may be a darker shade of red [inspired by Taking Back Sunday's '...Slowdance On The Inside'.]


_**Earth Bound Angel**_

_Summary: so paint your face up something elegant and this town may be a darker shade of red -RinoaxSquall. angst & blood for Miyori.-

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He never meant for it to happen. Any of it. The blood, the deaths, the sadness, the war, the terrible beauty of emotionless. None of that was ever supposed to come around.

**But it did…**

And now it's gone, and he's left alone. Alone with grief, because the state of unfeelingness had left too. And it wasn't fair. But he knew that it was probably his fault.

His beautiful angel had died. Her throat had been ripped out, gouged by a thousand stinking sharp slicing claws, and he couldn't help. He couldn't help her, couldn't help the whole situation, couldn't even help himself…

What was his life now? An abyss, emptiness that could never be wrought into something else. But that abyss, the void that contained nothing, still had things hovering around the edges of the darkness: greed, despair, anger, horror, sorrow, dismay, revulsion, shock, terror, misery, hopelessness, anguish, and above all, that overwhelmingly awful feeling of guilt that would plague him if he let it, if he ever gave it the chance to exist in his being.

His angel, his angel of dark sleek hair and compassionate lovely blue eyes; she hadn't wanted it like this. She wouldn't have – it wasn't possible for her soul to harbour something so dark. Such a thing should never have occurred anywhere near her lifetime; and it certainly shouldn't have taken the light from her eyes.

The blood had come from her lips, too, as she cried his name, falling into the embrace of pain and finally released from that aching hold into death. Merciful death, to free her from the ravages of hurt – but she should never have been subjected to that in the first place.

The blood had painted the entire city red. It had sprayed everywhere, drenching stone and glistening on metal, decorating the dull grey of the cobbles. That was with the first wave of attacks, complete with screams and the white of shattered bones and the spattering of brains and assorted internal organs on the pavement and gurgles as blood blocked the airways of those who were caught by the various weapons. The second wave, there was more blood. And more, and more, and as more came the city became dark red, a threatening shade of garnet but not so precious, or maybe more so, because it was the elixir of life that was being spilt to create the colour. The cemetery was filled with ruby statues; white marble was now red. The once great halls were dull with the dust of war. Everywhere, it was dark, and colourless – except for the endless seas of red.

Everywhere stank of death too. It was in the air, in the water, in the surrounding earth. Weeds thrived on their drink of blood and the fertilising carnage; the other more delicate plants withered and died. The once vibrant Balamb Gardens were now filled with skeletons, and these were not just the old dead plants but also animal and human.

She'd died dancing. He wondered, vaguely, if that was what she would have liked. She had died as a powerful participant in the dance of death, raven hair whipping in the wind and sapphire eyes strong and furious as she protected a small child. Her blue and black garments had been spattered with the blood of innocents and enemies alike early on – she'd been right there, in the thick of the fighting when it all began.

It had been her concert, too. The one where she was the one to shine, to show the world what she was made of. And show them she did, by dying at long last covered in the scars of battle and her blood and others' and the dirt and gore of war. Tears that had remained unshed in life fell in death, or the few pained moments before it, running tracks and making little rivulets down her rogued cheeks. The perfect makeup that had been applied like a work of art, the finishing touches to a masterpiece, was marred. Not ruined – she remained far too beautiful for that – but still, the symmetrical faultlessness was gone. The fingers that had earlier danced their way across a piano to play wondrous breathtakingly stunning and intricate pieces of self-composed music low hung limp off the white-sheeted block; all that could be afforded for the funeral for even one so dear to so many people. The music that had had the power to bring souls to life was now dead forever.

It was his fault. The more he thought about it, the more he realised the stark truth. If only he had been there sooner. If only he'd stood in a corner of that dimly lit room while she played, or even backstage. If only he'd brought his Gunblade to the concert, although the idea would have seemed silly before this had happened. If only he'd told her how he cared. If only he had helped her. If only.

**If only…**

She had been an earth-bound angel, one far too pure and lovely and innocent to remain on earth for long. And all he could do, as the attack began, was stare at her marble features, suddenly animated with emotion, and watch in horror as they slew her.

All he could do now was fight on grimly, day after wearisome day, unthinking, an automated machine trained to join in battle with enemies. And all he could do each night was lie awake thinking of her until her gentle voice lulled him to sleep, cooing soft words into his ear until the murmurs became nightmarish screams, or until his rest was disturbed by another call to arms.

**She was his angel in his dreams…**

Even in death, she was still an angel. Maybe more so now than ever – because now she was in heaven, where angels belong.

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Written because I was bored. And I felt like it. And I've never tried a Squinoa before. And the angst and gore amused me. And I promised myself I'd write my FiFi a Squinoa, because I know she loves them, and that I'd make it extra angsty because that is also what she lives for. Aaaaand because it is my Felia's birthday shortly, and she deserves to be spoilt! xDDD enjoy y'all, but in particular, Fel. Maybe this fic hasn't worked out exactly the way I expected it to, but the general gist is that Squall is angsting over Rinoa's death, and that she died when they were invaded and she was performing at the time... funness, eh? 

Ciao!

**Tally. SilverAuthoress. _Rikku_. AngelKairi.**

**-x- **_crack!_pa**i**r**i**ng g**o**dde_ss _**-x-**


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